Bird Snare
by EverandeverGreen
Summary: Thrawn stands on trial for his life. The charges: Aggravated Sexual Assault and Grievous Bodily Harm. His plea: Not Guilty. The evidence against him: Sufficient. His best hope for the freedom he desires, depends on Rosita Turuy finding the courage to destroy her marriage and reputation by revealing the truth of their affair. The only problem: her family want to see him hanged.
1. Setting the Stage

**Chapter One: Setting the Stage**

Rosita swayed on the spot as her husband read out loud the messages between her and her lover. With every line he read, it became harder for her to breathe, until all she could think of doing was falling on her knees and ridding herself of the vile concoction writhing her gut with nausea.

"I can't wait to taste you again?" Spenc read, frowning at the message. A look of comprehension passed over his face. "Do you mean to tell me you let that creature put its dick in your mouth?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but only gaped soundlessly at him. What was she supposed to say, the truth? He would hate the truth.

"You're a disgusting slut, Rosita. _**Disgusting**_."

"Spenc—"

"No!" he snapped, his face twisting into a harsh and brutish snarl. "You don't get to speak. Don't you dare say a fucking word." He paced back and forth, clutching her datacom in his taut fist. Behind him, the wind moved their thin white drapes aside, offering a brief glimpse of Coruscant's nightscape above their bedroom's balcony.

If only he would move out the way. Then she could run and jump for it.

"What will your parents say?" he asked. "I'm telling them, by the way. They should know their daughter fucks aliens now."

"Don't you dare!" she spat and, finally, her voice gained some bite to it. "This is between us."

"They'll disown you."

"Let me fix this!" Rosita inhaled sharply and prepared herself for the inevitable onslaught. She couldn't hold back any more, the tears paved lines down her made up cheeks—she hadn't had the chance to wash her face yet. "I can fix this!" she sobbed.

"I never cheated on you. Never! And I could have! Countless times. But I never did."

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I—"

"How did this happen?" he shot across her. "I didn't even know you were in contact with Thrawn, and now I find out that you've been fucking him? That sniveling cretin tried to get us expelled from the RIA! Did you forget that?"

What use was there to explain any of it? It would only make him angrier. But Spenc wanted to know everything.

Every sordid detail.

So she took a deep breath and started from the beginning.

"I saw him on Empire Day at the Motti gallery," she began with a heavy sigh, winding her arms tightly around her middle. "Like, three years ago. It wasn't a pleasant reunion or anything."

"Oh yeah? Did the two of you sneak off and rut in the washroom then?"

"What?" her nose scrunched, and she shook her head so hard the world spun around her. "No! I still hated him—he was still such a know-it-all, impressing everyone with all his knowledge on Aristicrotle. He took the words right out my mouth. It was so annoying. But then everyone left, and we were standing there alone together. We talked about him—Aristicrotle—and… it was _nice_. Thrawn was funny, though still an emotionless droid. Remember how we used to call him that?"

"Does Not Compute," Spenc said, letting out a ragged breath. "Gilroy came up with that."

She lifted her arms and jerked stiffly, giving her best impression of a protocol droid. "Droid Does Not Compute."

Spenc stared at her. On any other night, he would have grinned his little sideways grin and flounced her impression with his own imitation of droid-Thrawn. She let her arms fall back down to her sides and dug inside for the courage it took to continue.

"So, we were talking," she went on, "And I ended up inviting him to the Antique Fly Show. Rumour had it there was going to be an actual Aristicrotle there, on auction. So, I thought, why not? He likes Aristicrotle. I like Aristicrotle. It was silly, but I knew you were going back to the Seswenna Sector for work, and I knew I'd be lonely when you were gone."

"You have plenty to do when I'm away and plenty of people worth spending your time with." He folded his arms and watched her with an unimpressed frown.

"I know that!" she cried with exasperation. "I just… it was our conversation that made me invite Thrawn. He's quite knowledgeable, we couldn't help but exchange our thoughts. You know how that makes me…" she trailed off.

"Wet?" Spenc supplied.

"Feel stimulated."

"Didn't you buy that painting? The Aristicrotle?"

"I did." She reached up and scratched the back of her neck, remembering how she wanted to impress Thrawn—remembering the smirk on his face because he realized this.

Spenc frowned. "Go on then. What made you actually go through with sleeping with him? He isn't even human, Rosita! Talk to them? Sure. Work with them? What other choice do we have? But to fuck one? Stars!" he shuddered visibly. "You're my wife! My wife! I don't know if him being an alien makes it worse. I don't know, but the thought of him or anyone touching you like that, enjoying you like that—" he shook his head vigorously.

"You should understand. You're my husband."

"Understand what?"

"WHY!" she bellowed. "YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND WHY I DID IT!"

He laughed a cold laugh that made her take an instinctive step back.

"I don't care why," he said. "Tell me. When? When did this happen? I was with you the entire time that Empire Day."

It took all her strength and restraint not to snort. Was Spenc joking, or did he not remember? "You left. You said you'd seen the Motti Gallery one too many times and that you were bored, so you left to meet with Tagge and Boervox."

Spenc moved to sit on the bed and put his face down in his palms. "So, I shouldn't have left. Is that it?" his words were muffled behind his hands, but she still heard the regret in his voice.

She took a step towards him but stopped and watched him with a dark fascination—it was possible to reduce such a man to this?

When Spenc lifted his face from his hands, she saw that it was wet with tears. "Do you actually—?" He glowered, unable to voice the question she knew was burning him inside.

_Do I love him?_

"You said you first reunited three years ago? So this whole time, the two of you were fucking?"

"No," she replied meekly. "We were only acquaintances at first. Then friends."

_And now I love him._

"_**Friends**_." He spat the word out like it was the galaxy's worst joke. "How many times did he violate you, this '**_friend_**' of yours?"

_Violate me?_ "I don't know." She scratched her arm and looked down at the floor. Thrawn had never violated her. If anything, she had violated him.

"Just once," Spenc said for her. She looked back up and saw that his eyes had glazed over, unfocused, staring straight through her as if she wasn't there.

"What?"

"It happened once." He picked up the datacom from the bed and stood up. "Thrawn raped you. And we're going to take care of it. "

Her hand found the plunging neck of her lace nightgown, and she fiddled with it. Hearing but not quite understanding Spenc's words.

"A datacom," he said drily. "Very clever of you. There won't be any history logged to the Core-Net server, or anywhere else for that matter. You don't want to leave this marriage with next to nothing, and our prenuptial agreement states that if one of us cheats the other gets everything. And yet, even still, you couldn't keep your legs closed, could you?"

"I'm so sorry." She wiped her face with the backs of her hands, only managing to smear tears over her blotchy cheeks. "Please believe me!"

"Yes, I bet you are sorry. And that alien will be too. This will be his undoing." He held up the datacom and shook it in her face. "Your cunning."

…

Several days later, Rosita asked that Thrawn come to their spot. Their spot being her property on Chandrila. It was nothing fancy, just a place she could go barefoot for a time and let her hair down from out of those elaborate hairdos required to keep up with the latest fashion trends.

He arrived with his little black bag, filled always with the same items inside. A change of clothing, several undergarments, pajamas that Rosita never let him wear, a smaller bag for his toiletries, and a present just for her. Nothing too expensive, but so tailored to her needs that she sometimes wondered if he hacked her data-system. He told her it was her body that told him what she needed; she only gasped and made him sweat enough to prove it.

Today would be no different—except for everything.

"You came," Rosita said when he walked through the door of the cottage, her pulse raced with nerves. The cottage climbed down to a lake one could admire through the large back viewports. But it was night now, so all there was to admire was him.

"Why would I not come?" he asked, tilting his head in that way of his. He looked around the room, taking in a deep breath. "I do like the smell of wood," he added thoughtfully.

"So you've said." She stared at the back of his black shirt, tracing the v of his shoulders, and following him down the hall as if she was the guest and not him.

"Why would I not come?" he repeated. "You know I have leave days available." He turned and leaned against her kitchen island, his fingers tapping the synth-marble.

"I thought you would know better. Don't you know everything?"

He stared at her in silence, red eyes tracing over her with lightning speed, missing nothing. He must have seen some of the truth because his shoulders sagged ever so slightly and his lips pouted. But he didn't see enough. How would he know to run when she had worked so hard to earn his trust?

Her tears made him go blurry, and she reached up to pinch her lips between her thumb and forefinger to avoid yelling at him to go away. _Before I take your poor life._

"Rosita?" Thrawn closed the distance between them. His hands traveled down the back of her arms once he drew her in closer.

"We knew this would end one day," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "So, let's end it."

"End it?" he murmured, releasing her then reaching up to smooth his inky coloured hair back. "I ignored reason," he continued under his breath. "Now I must face the consequences."

"Why did we even start this?"

"Attraction," he declared solemnly. "I do not feel it very often, and so I was powerless against it."

"But why continue? Once could have been enough. We knew it was wrong, so why did we keep doing it?"

"I can only speak for myself in this, and for me it was…" he trailed off, mouth twisting to the side. "For me, it was simply a matter of feeling contented by your challenges. What is more, it is bliss to be inside you." He reached down and cupped her pussy, dragging his hand down and gripping it hard and shamelessly. "For my fingers, for my tongue, and this."

He removed his hand and took hers, placing it against his crotch. It was so warm, and Rosita swore she could feel his blood rushing there, even through the fabric of his pants. He had told her once that the Chiss had hotter core temperatures, to better tolerate the cold.

"Nothing compares to us now," he went on, and she closed her eyes to feel the baritone of his voice. "None of my old pleasures. And though I knew it could only last for a short time and that my actions lacked honor on all fronts, I still had to have you."

She nodded. Her face crumpled in pain, and her tears now fell in streams down her face. She sagged against him so he couldn't see them, but he took her by the chin.

"There is no need for these." He wiped her face with the back of his index finger, drying her as thoroughly as he was thorough when making her wet.

"It's over, Thrawn. That's why I invited you here. To end things."

"I know," he said. "I had a feeling of impending doom. I attributed it to work. I have been slipping recently, those rebels—Phoenix Cell—now I know it is not them to blame, but you."

She stared imploringly at him. The worst part was that he would hate her soon, and understandably so. To save her marriage, Thrawn would have to hate her; it was the only way.

"I meant that as a compliment to you," he said, misinterpreting her silence for once. "You affect me deeply."

"I know," she muttered. "And I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

There was every reason to be careful. Thrawn was intensely intelligent. He deconstructed schemes with the smallest amount of evidence. She had to distract him.

Rosita pulled him down to meet her mouth, stopping short of brushing his lips and said, "If this is to be our last time together, I want you to make it count."

Why did he have to be so selfish? Why couldn't he refuse?

They grunted together, not even making it to the bedroom, but finding the couch with their lips welded and their pelvises rocking together in desperation.

"Cum in me," she demanded while he spread her legs and lined himself up. "I want us to do this properly."

He pulled away and stared down hard at her. "We do not know if—"

"I don't care," she growled, claiming his mouth with hers again. Then she did as she was instructed beforehand: she bit down hard on his lips, broke the skin, and drew blood.

Thrawn groaned helplessly and his buttocks rose and fell with a frenzied urgency.

"Don't you dare stop." She wiped his blood from her mouth onto a white decorative pillow and lifted her hips to get the most of this last time.

It was so wrong. And yet, somehow, he managed to make it feel so good.

* * *

Cue the music: The Doors- Light my Fire


	2. Hair and Makeup

**Warning: this chapter is disturbing. I have to peel the skin and expose the bones, but to do that I had to be graphic. The story will lighten up as it progresses—I don't mean to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Have faith in Thrawn; he's an opportunist with a plan.**

**Chapter Two: Hair and Makeup**

There was nothing human in the sound Thrawn made when he came. It reminded Rosita of the hiss of an airlock as it decompressed.

The first time she heard it, she had shuddered with apprehension, worried that he had intended to rip into her throat with his teeth. But now? She grabbed him by the back of the neck, melding her tongue with his as his hot seed burned a pathway to her cervix. The feeling brought her to the brink and made her clench and soak him.

Once complete, Thrawn pulled himself out and laid his cock to rest heavily against her thigh, panting deeply into the armrest of the couch. Rosita wanted nothing more than to wrap her legs around him and flip them around, so she could smear herself over his stomach, then reach around and coax him into another round.

He was always good for it.

Unfortunately, this wasn't about what she wanted—she only needed his DNA. That in mind, she raised herself to a sitting position, shrugging him off and saying, "Give me your datacom."

"Why?"

Rosita grabbed her underwear and slipped them on. "I want to delete all of the messages between us. I want a clean break. I don't want there to be any evidence of our past just… laying around."

"I deleted them as they came. Did you not do the same?"

Her cheeks rushed with sudden warmth. But still, she held out her hand. "Let me see."

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. After a moment of indecision, he reached behind him, slipped his hand into the pocket of his discarded trousers, and pulled out his datacom. He handed it to her.

Only one message: from him, telling her he had arrived on the planet and how soon he would be there. She put his datacom down and grabbed her own from the table.

"You kept them?" he asked, peering over her shoulder as she scrolled through the many messages.

"I like to read them sometimes," she said, feeling her cheeks burn again. "Do you remember how less complicated things were when all we had to chat about was our weapon designs?" Her thumb hovered over the 'Delete All' button. She leaned back into him and closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.

"You seek destruction," he said in her ear. "Destruction that you do not truly desire. And now you feel the early stages of regret: fear and doubt."

"Please, Thrawn," she begged, her voice hoarse with emotion. "I don't want to be analyzed right now." She held the com up. "Can you do it for me?"

He reached over and took the device, cradling it in his long fingers and pressing delete. Rosita watched the messages disappear, like the end credits of a holodrama. "You need to go. Before I change my mind," she said.

"Very well, but first—"

"No!" she snapped. "No shower, none of that. You need to leave." She unwrapped his arm from around her stomach and stood up, feeling intense defensiveness. _You have no idea what they'll do to me if I don't do this! _

"It would please me to give you one last gift," he said, calm as ever. "Will you allow me this final pleasure?"

All she could do was blink at him. He took that as cause to go and find his bag.

He came back with a small parcel. "I was quite lucky to find this," he said when Rosita plucked it from his hand and sat back down to unwrap it. "Only in Wild Space and beyond can you find such a rock—they call it Puddingstone."

"Puddingstone," she repeated, rubbing her thumb over the palm-sized stone. It was tan, with several chunks of multicolored rocks and minerals, all with different textures. It reminded her of fruitcake.

"The stone has no real value, besides its unique aesthetic, but do you see those red minerals in there? The caves of my homeworld, Csilla, are lined with it. They say it gave us our red eyes. A myth, of course." He paused. "You once said you would like to go there with me. I would have you, yet this is not possible, so have this as a way of getting to know my origins."

"I shouldn't," she murmured, twirling it around in her fingers and peering closely at it. "What's it called? The red mineral from your homeworld?"

"We call it Leueth'ra," he replied.

"Luethra," she repeated, not quite perfecting its pronunciation. "It's beautiful… but I can't take anything else from you." She held it back out towards him, balanced on the palm of her hand, ready for him to take it back. Only he wouldn't.

Thrawn curled her fingers over it into a tight fist and gently pushed her hand towards her chest. "It was a gift intended for you. Keep it."

"Thank you, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. I'll put it in the bedroom, to go with that Umbaran candle you got me."

He dipped his head. "I will go now." He picked up her datacom. "First, I must call for a transport."

"Here." She picked Thrawn's datacom up and held it out to him. "Use yours."

He stared at her, frowning deeper than she had ever seen him frown before. A cold dread filled her. _He sees more than he should._ He took his datacom from her hand but stood and slipped it into his pocket.

"I will walk to the transport station."

"The transport station?" Rosita parroted back in shock. "But… it'll take you hours to get there on foot."

"Who have you confided in about us?" he asked, pulling his shirt over his shoulders and shaking out the sleeves. "Did we not agree it would be best if we told no one?"

"I haven't told anyone." The lie hung heavily in the air.

Thrawn blinked slowly, his deft fingers lingering on one of his cuff buttons. _Fuck._ She knew that expression—or lack thereof—meant he had drawn a conclusion and was now waiting patiently for confirmation of its validity.

"I said I hadn't told anyone."

"Perhaps."

"What do you—mean?"

"Was it Orbar?" he asked, in a low soothing voice that she knew was meant to weaken her.

She shook her head furiously at him; Thrawn had no right to mention her husband!

"I have often used your datacom to call for a speeder; when comes the time to leave. Why should tonight be any different? No more getting intimate, I understand, you wish to end the affair. Avoid my presence so that you can move on, advisable. But for me not to use your com, for a simple transmission which would ensure my removal from your vicinity?" his head tilted to the side, and she saw that he was dangerous, and no fool.

It was best to remain silent. He would trap her. She would confess. Then what?

"Rosita," he said, pinning her in place with his gaze. "Whatever scheme you have arranged, I implore you to reconsider your attempt."

"I love you," was her response, because she needed some honesty to wash away the lies. "That's why I need you to leave. Now."

He hesitated. But then he bowed his head and backed slowly away, his eyes continuing to consume her until she couldn't take it anymore. She scoffed and moved past him, leading him to the door with hurried footsteps.

"Do reconsider." Were these going to be the last words he spoke to her? She watched him walk down the long gravel lane. For a moment, the wild idea of calling him back and demanding he call for a speeder entered her mind. It's better this way, she thought, so she choked down that urge until it died unspoken in her throat. His leaving on foot would make the story more believable, and she needed that more than anything, including him.

When Thrawn was gone, Rosita walked back into the cottage and blinked the patio lights for Petrol, who waited down the hill for the signal.

Petrol took up most of the doorway with his burly frame. He promised to make it quick and that he had brought painkillers for when they finished. Strong ones—the kind that made addicts out of people.

"Should we wait for Spenc?" she asked, moving aside so that he could come in.

"He's not coming," Petrol said as the door slid shut behind him. "That wouldn't make much sense now, would it? No, he'll meet you at the hospital once he gets the call."

"Let's just do this, and you leave."

He grunted his agreement, pulling from his bag a pair of durable suede work gloves and one of those jumpsuits and masks worn by forensics operatives to avoid contamination at a crime scene.

"Show me where it happened," he said, once he pulled the hood over his balding head.

She led him to the couch in her costume—just a shirt and her underwear.

"Where are your pants?" he asked. "You would've been wearing pants before he jumped you."

She pointed to them; they lay crumpled in a heap on the floor where she and Thrawn had left them.

Petrol picked them up and ripped the button off, tossing it and the pants aside carelessly. He then unslung the strap of his pouch from over his shoulder and poured its contents on the ground: spare gloves, a thick rod wrapped with tape, and garrote wire she was to say Thrawn brought with him.

His next move was to grab her by the shoulder, tug her downward, then, without warning, he landed a sharp jab straight to her stomach.

She gasped as the blow forced all the air out of her lungs.

Petrol followed up by slamming her down on her back and straddling her, raining down blows past her outstretched hands to smash her face and chest.

The hits to her face turned her into a drooling fool.

He pulled her up by the hair and wrapped the garrote around her neck. She spluttered and gasped, eyes bulging from the sockets.

It didn't take long for her to have to tap his arm so he wouldn't accidentally strangle her to death. He let up, but only so he could focus his efforts on her lower body. He beat the inside of her thighs and raked his gloved fingers so hard against her buttocks that she felt she would have to gouge his eyes out to make it fair.

"I'm sorry for this next part," he said, not sounding very sorry at all. He grabbed Rosita by the leg band of her underwear and stretched it out to the side. "Did he leave any semen behind?"

She nodded stiffly, her trembling fingers moving to touch her stomach. "Inside me."

"And this was the underwear you put on right after?"

She nodded.

"Good. You tell them Thrawn left these on you while he did his thing." He picked up the tape-covered rod and held it up to his eyes. "This won't feel good, but there should be trauma down there. They can tell, you know."

That said, he shoved the rod in her in one fell swoop, and she saw little particles of light bursting behind her clenched eyelids.

In between her howling screams, Petrol punctuated every thrust of the rod with a low grunt of effort.

It was like getting impaled with fire. Rosita clawed at his face. He grabbed one of the offending wrists and twisted it so hard she felt something snap.

"ENOUGH!" she bellowed, writhing against the floor. "STOP!"

He grabbed the front of her shirt and, for the final touch, tore it from her back, yanking her up in the process. She struck him in the groin for his trouble and felt great satisfaction when he curled over, cursing and spitting into his mask.

"You're not supposed to fight back," he rasped.

"Yeah? Well, fuck you!" she coughed and crawled for the couch, her bad wrist cradled to her chest, and her head swimming.

The adrenaline pumping inside her showed no mercy and kept her from passing out. She wiped her mouth and winced at the sight of blood on her knuckles. It tasted like what the integrated circuits had smelled like, back when she made them as part of the weapon engineering program.

"Get out," she hissed, spitting red on the floor. "Before I kill you."

Petrol chuckled good-naturedly and tossed her a small bottle that rattled with pills. Who they belonged too, she couldn't tell. The name on the sticker had worn away to such an extent that it was practically indecipherable. Not that she felt up to deciphering anything, with her eyes busy swelling shut.

"Don't shower, don't piss," he said, struggling to his feet. "And you make sure Orbar gets me the rest of my credits. Give me an hour to clear way out of here, and then you call the authorities on your Grand Admiral."

"Get out," she repeated.

"Good luck," he called over his shoulder. Only when the door slid shut behind him did Rosita feel free to vomit.


End file.
